


A Broken Fence

by BobVanceVanceRefrigeration



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Coming of Age, Consensual Sex, Consensual Underage Sex, Crying, Exhibitionism, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Divorce, Puberty, Underage Masturbation, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26709775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobVanceVanceRefrigeration/pseuds/BobVanceVanceRefrigeration
Summary: Kevin, 12, is alone and trapped in a home with no love for him. Mark, 40, traps himself in the home he won in the divorce. Two neighbors desperate for love but afraid to find it, until a broken fence allows them to try. This contains consensual sex between the 40 year old and the 12 year old. If that bothers you do not read this.
Kudos: 13





	A Broken Fence

The divorce has been final for two years now. I got the house, she got to go find the love she thought she found in me. Nobody cheated. There were no scandals. She just woke up one day and finally was able to admit that after six years of a loveless life together it was time to let each other go. I never thought I'd be thankful for someone leaving me, but life has ways of surprising you.

For the past two years I've become very good at closing myself off from, well, everything. After what I went through, I felt as though I didn't deserve love, and the few dates I went on were terrible because I refused to really try to find it.

Sometimes it has to find you, instead.

Tonight, however, I'm sitting in my home office killing time. I'll know pretty soon if I'm going to be alone tonight. 10:30 is usually when Kevin, the kid who lives in the house nextdoor to mine, sneaks out into the backyard, squeezes through a break in the fence, knocks on my bedroom window and comes into my house to spend the night, mostly to have sex. Lots and lots of sex.

Kevin is 12 years old. I'm 40. So, why is the seventh-grader next door sneaking over to have sex with his 40 year-old divorced neighbor? Providence? I don't really know. I've always fantasized about relationships with men, which I never really tried to explore after my marriage fell apart. I also have had fantasies about relationships with boys. The latter wasn't something I ever admitted to anyone.

* * *

It started about three months ago. I caught him jacking off in my yard near the broken fence I mentioned earlier. He didn't see me at first and so I watched him. I shouldn't have. I have no excuse, except for that he's a stunningly beautiful boy. I'm not exaggerating. It's the kind of beautiful that should model clothes, or act in movies or TV, but doesn't because his dad is a piece of shit, but we'll get to more of that in a second.

Anyway, I watched him for long enough to see him get close to coming, when he suddenly turned around to look at me. Our eyes met and I immediately turned around, ashamed. He told me to stay. He told me to please stay. I should have insisted, but I didn't, and so I turned back around to look at him. Then he arched his back, clenched his teeth and pumped out a spectacular orgasm just a few feet from where I was standing. I was so turned on it physially hurt.

I apologized and tried to leave again, but he stopped me. He was shaking but it wasn't cold outside. He asked me for a towel. I told him he could come inside and get cleaned up. He followed me inside and I showed him to the master bathroom. When we got there he threw his arms around me and held me in a tight hug and begged me not to tell his dad what I'd just seen. He was still shaking.

I knew Kevin's father, in that I knew he was my neighbor, and I knew that Kevin's mom had died many years ago. I told Kevin that I had a lot more to be worried about if his dad knew what just had happened, but I was wrong. This is when I learned that Kevin's father suffered from an earth-shattering case of borderline personality disorder, and wasn't medicated. Okay, well that's not entirely true, he drank constantly because he claimed that it helped, when in reality it just made everything worse, especially for Kevin. That's because his father also happened to believe that God didn't like it when Kevin touched himself, and so whenever Kevin got caught masturbating his hopelessly intoxicated father would mercilessly beat the shit out of him.

So, a horny 12 year old did what any horny 12 year old would do: found a new place to jack off, which ended up being my backard. He admitted that it had been going on for a few months, and that he usually timed his visits to coincide with times that I wasn't home. So obviously I asked him why he came over tonight then, since it was clear that I was in the house. I hoped I knew his answer. As it turns out, I did.

He wanted me to find him this time because he was sad, and lonely, and scared. He used those exact words. Most boys his age would have just said somehthing veiled or non-specific instead of exposing such bare vulnerability to another man. More importantly, I don't understand to this day how he chose the exact same three words that I kept feeling in my own heart day after day.

Sad. Alone. Scared.

He was still shaking. Now I was, too.

By the time he'd finished telling me all this I let some silence pass before asking him why he wasn't afraid that his father would notice that he'd snuck out this late at night. He told me that his father was passed out drunk already, and nothing in the world could wake him until morning. He told me that nobody would miss him. After he told me that part he started to sob, gently at first and then openly and uncontrollably, gasping and coughing as the tears soaked his perfect face. I held him until the worst of it had passed, then he took some deep breaths and fell asleep right there in my arms, still standing with me in the bathroom.

Asleep standing up. I couldn't blame him. I've had more cries like that than I care to recall. The poor kid was exhausted and I sure as hell wasn't going to try and take him back home after what he'd just told me, so I carried him to my bed and lay him down. His face was reddened and wet, but relaxed and peaceful. His short, blond hair was a mess, and yet still perfect. I sighed as I watched him sleep for a moment. I left him fully-clothed and put a comforter over him. At this point I was feeling pretty beat, too, so I grabbed an extra blanket from my linen closet and lay down on my bedroom couch, so I could be nearby if he woke up and got confused. Eventually I fell asleep, too.

A few hours later, at around 2 A.M., he did wake up, but he wasn't confused. I felt him slide up next to me on the couch. He whispered to me and asked me if I was awake. I told him yes, and apologized for not taking him home. He just lay there next to me and smiled this big, knowing, grateful, beautiful smile, the kind that warms your body just from seeing it. And it did. I couldn't help but smile right back. Seeing him happy was filling a place in my heart that had long been empty, and so I let him fill it.

Then he did what I knew I could never do, and I'll never be able to thank him enough for it. He leaned forward and kissed me, grabbing my face with both of his hands. He was fearless and committed. At first I was confused, then I was afraid. After what seemed like a century, but was actually about a half-second, I decided to forget all the reasons I shouldn't kiss him back and, once I finished forgetting, I grabbed him like a man grabs anything he loves and started kissing him with my whole being.

He noticed my enthusiasm. I think I overwhelmed him briefly because I felt him tense up. Perhaps he was expecting me to push him away. After a few seconds he relaxed again and started to explore how far he could take this new physical partnership. He stopped for long enough to say thank you, and asked if it was okay to take off his clothes. I told him to do whatever made him feel happy because that's honestly what I wanted. I needed to be the person that made this beautiful, wonderful boy find some happiness in the life he found himself trapped in. He got up, stripped off his t-shirt, unbuttoned his jeans, slid down his boxer briefs and turned to my bed to lie down.

Kevin was 12, and his body wasn't really a man's yet, but it was getting there. His body was beginning to show some muscle tone. His penis was hard now, probaby about 4 1/2 inches. I went over and asked him if he wanted me to take off my clothes, too. He didn't waste any time, nodding excitedly. I took my clothes off and let him see me, a not terribly fit middle-aged guy, who wasn't the most well endowed guy around, but at 6 1/2 inches and 6 inch girth, I did fine.

Kevin got a little wide eyed when he saw my penis which was also rock-hard at this point. I lay down next to him and leaned over, kissing him and using my right hand to feel his abdomen. I ran my fingers and hand around to the small of his back, then down to his butt, then finally to his crotch, gently grasping his dick and feeling it in my hands. He broke free to gasp for a moment, then kissed me again. I started to massage the shaft. It was hard, yes, but also velvety smooth and soft.

I was young once, and so I knew where to press, for how long, in which direction. I didn't tease or waste time. I used the exact gestures and stimulation necessary to give him an orgasm. As I felt it approach I released his lips from mine and moved my lips to his neck, then up to his ear. It wouldn't be long now so I quickened my movements and gripped him tightly. I heard him grunt and felt him convulse as his abdominal muscles began to rhythmically contract. He held his breath for a moment and then released, letting his orgasm wash over us both. We kissed again.

And that's how it all started.


End file.
